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If You Haven’t Been Greeted by a Basset…

Then you haven’t…been greeted by a Basset. I made a brief mention of it when I returned from Austin last week, but today I’m going to prove, through the use of clear and convincing evidence, that being welcomed home by a Basset Hound is truly one of life’s pure joys, my brothers and sisters. Pure joy indeed. Because first, when Basset Hounds see you, they drop everything they’re doing and run toward you at (their) top speed. Second, they can’t run very fast—not fast at all—so watching them try to get to you as quickly as possible, despite the fact that their legs are 1 cm long, is sheer comedy. Third—oh, for goodness sakes, they’re Basset Hounds! Nothing more needs to be said.

First, they see you. In Charlie’s case, he was standing at the fence watching a herd of cows come in. But His Human was much more exciting, and he forgot about the cows and came running.

Oh, dear.

Look at Charlie’s face. He’s trying to act all unconcerned and above it all, despite the fact that he’s barreling toward me at (Charlie’s) top speed. He’s doing it on purpose—trying to look unaffected, that is.

Or maybe it’s just gravity. Those jowls must weigh about eighty pounds each.

C’mon, Charlie!

C’mon, Dumbo!

C’mon, Flying Nun!

You can do it! You’re almost here…keep comin’!

Wait…Charles? What gives? Why are you stopping?

Charles?

I think he hears something.

Hark. I hear the hooves of wild beasts.

Charles? Come on! I’m still waiting for my hug.

Charlie! You’re going the wrong way. It’s ME…remember?

Ah. Now I understand.

One other thing about Basset Hounds: Humans always—always—lose out to a stampeding herd of livestock.

I learned this early on. And I no longer take it personally. Really—I don’t hardly even cry any more!